role fatigue
by zehecatl
Summary: Mikey doesn't want to talk about it; Raph's not going to let him stay quiet. (2k7 verse)


for a prompt on tumblr; also on ao3!

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It's not that he's never seen Mikey sad before, because of course he has. They've all been sad before, all been miserable and down in the sewer, and it's not _new_, the fact that Mikey's sad sometime. Raph still remembers waking up to Mikey curled up against his plastron, shoulders tense and face pressed in hard, all miserable and sad like a kicked puppy-dog.

The thing is just- well.

Raph can't remember the last time he saw Mikey sad, is all.

He picks his brain apart, chases out every memory of letting Mikey clutch at him like a kid, shuddering with sobs and half-choked words, and all of them is years old. They're all from before their life turned into a hectic mess of fighting and danger and blood crusted in the cracks of the floor. It's weird, uncomfortable; not _right_, because the two of them's always been _close_, always been there for each other no matter how much they didn't want it at the time. He remembers Mikey bandaging his knuckles, talking a mile a minute, their knees together and never once commenting on the shine to Raph's eyes, the way he shudder at each gentle touch.

But Raph can't remember doing that for Mikey.

Not lately, at least.

Worst part is he hasn't even realised it. Not until now, at least, standing in the doorway and looking in at the small, hunched up shape of his bro, and fuck, he hasn't felt this stupid in a long while.

"Mike," he pitches his voice low, steps in careful and quiet. His brother hunches up even tighter, all wire-lines and tension, and Raph's throat goes tight, worry and guilt all tangled up together.

"Mikey."

He closes the door behind him; ignores the fact that everything's dark now, shadows and grey colours, and makes his way to the bed with practiced steps.

He doesn't bother calling his brother's name again. Mikey's all bunched up, all drawn in on himself, and he's not going to answer. Raph knows this tactic, has seen it before, during that brief period where Mikey tried to push him away, and it's utter bullshit, just as back then.

Raph doesn't so much push Mikey aside as shove him- he sits down in the space Mikey gives up, ignores his brother's flailing, and settles right in. Because fuck as if he's leaving. Fuck as if he's just going to pretend nothing's wrong, and fuck Mikey for thinking, even for a _second_, that he can pull that shit.

"I'm not going to leave," he says, pointed and sharp. Mikey, still tangled up in his blanket and still trying to figure out a way to curl up with Raphael so up in his space, goes still. Goes _tense_, and Raph wants to smack him over the head.

"... Nothing's wrong," says Mikey, like Raph would _actually fall for that_.

Raph huffs. "Sure, and I'm a double-agent working for Shredder. C'mon Mikey, it's _me_."

Mikey peeks out from the blanket. It's weird, seeing him without his smile. Seeing his face tugged down into a frown, creased with sadness and red with tears, and Raph viciously punched down the anger boiling in his gut, the urge to find whoever the fuck made his little brother look like this and _kill them_.

"... Does he pay well?"

Raphael blinks. Takes a second, still stuck somewhere in the pit of his gut, all protectiveness and anger. Then he snorts.

"No," he says, and Mikey's eyes turn up at the corners, and Raph knows there's a smile, there. "I'm only doing it for the reward of fucking over Leo."

Mikey snorts. He twists down his face, hides it in his blanket, and Raphael reaches out, lays his hand on the curve of Mikey's head, and the worry is on his tongue once more.

"Seriously though. What's up?"

He can feel the smile leaving Mikey's face. Can feel it in the way Mike goes all tense, all still and prickly, and Raphael wonders what part of this Mikey got from _him_. What part of this stupid dance he copied from Raph's own refusal to talk about his feelings, about the things that cut so fucking deep he don't think they'll ever scar right.

_Stop it_, he thinks at himself. _This isn't about __**you**_.

"It's nothing," Mikey says, muffled into his blanket. Raph spreads out his fingers, pushes down just a bit. Presses _i'm here _and _comfort_ into the back of Mikey's head, and his brother huffs.

"Really," he says, and twists out beneath Raph's hand; he flips over, cranes his head back to look up at Raph, and there's this stupid, false smile on his face. Like Mikey actually _thinks_ Raph would fall for it. "Nothing's up."

Raph doesn't bite down on the urge this time. He smacks the side of Michaelangelo's side, a sharp but weak blow, and Mikey yelps, flails out of the way much too late.

"Don't do that," Raph says, flat as can be. "Don't pretend with me."

Mikey whines. He's turned away from Raph, now, shell to him, and Mikey's rubbing at his shoulder, likely pouting like a brat, and Raph crosses his arms, waits.

Considers, just briefly, kicking Mikey in the legs.

"It's just-" Mikey's voice is quiet, soft. He inhales, keeps it there for a while, and then goes slack with the exhale.

"Just a bad day. Really."

Raph furrows his brows. Tilts his head, and examines the way his brother's sitting, the way he's curling in on himself, just a bit, all sad and miserable, and it's obvious he doesn't want to talk about whatever's nagging him.

And Raph gets that. He _does_, but if their places were switched, well. Mikey wouldn't just let him get away with _that_.

"You sure?" he asks, and reaches over, snags Mikey by the top of his shell and pulls him back; Mike goes without even a hint of a fight, limp as a noodle, and Raph drops Mikey on the curve of his knee, drapes an arm over his brother's shoulder.

Mikey looks up at him. Raph stares down at him, eyebrows raised, and tries really hard not to shake his brother till he spills.

Mikey looks away first.

"You... you know how we kinda got roles? Like, you're the muscles and Leo's the leader and Donnie's the smart guy and-" Raph pats at Mikey's plastron, and there's a strain, to the edge of Mike's mouth. A strain to the way his voice falls, a quiver that shouldn't be there, and there's a sinking feeling in Raphael's gut.

"And, and, well-" Mikey inhales shakily, doesn't look at Raph, and his chest rises sharply, hovers there, anxious and shuddery. "I'm the funny guy, right? I'm the- the jokester, and the one who's always smiling, and-"

He laughs, this choked thing that shouldn't ever be leaving Mikey, all tangled and twisted and bloody, and there's a shine to his eyes, now. "And sometimes it's _so hard_!"

He curls his hands up, presses them to his chest, to somewhere above his heart, and Raph clutches at Mikey's arm, swallows down on the urge to say something.

"Sometimes it's so _fucking hard_ to smile and laugh and joke, but I just- I can't _not_ do it! Because I know you guys need me there, need me to be happy and, and upbeat, and it's not that I'm forcing it, not always, and I _like_ being like that, I like making jokes and making you guys laugh, but I just-!"

He chokes himself off, eyes wide and wet, and a tear's sliding down his cheek, creeping down the side of his head, and Raph raises his free hand to thumb it away.

"Sometimes it's just really hard," Mikey says, so fragile and quiet, and _young_.

"I'm sorry," Raph says, because he thinks maybe he has to. "I- _we_\- didn't mean to put that on you."

And they didn't. They really _didn't_, but Mikey's not wrong; they need him there, their own personal little sun, joking and bright and something to cling to, because sometimes they get so caught up in their own problems, their own shadows, and it feels like they'd drown without Michelangelo.

Mikey sniffs.

"It's not like you told me to do it," he says, and Raph huffs, pats at his face.

"Sure, but still. You're not wrong."

They lay there, quiet for a while. Mikey sniffs from time to time, eyes shimmering, and Raph looks out at the bedroom, still and kind of guilty, because he can't believe he hadn't noticed this.

Can't believe he was putting so much pain on his brother without even realising it.

"Are you being stupid?" Mikey asks, voice snotty. Raph snorts.

"Maybe," he says, and then sighs. "Can't help it though. I hurt you."

Mikey huffs. Flips over so he can lie on his stomach instead, and punches the space above Raph's heart. It's awkward and weak and kind of pathetic, but Raph doesn't laugh.

"I like doing it, though," Mikey says, steel in his voice. "I _like_ cheering you guys up, and I like being happy. So it's not your fault, okay?"

Raph sighs. Taps his knuckles against Mikey's head, and doesn't say okay.

"Just. Don't bottle it up, okay? You know what happens when you do that."

Mikey laughs. Twists around, out of Raph's lap, and flips himself upright. His eyes are red and there's still something heavy tugging at his shoulders, but he's smiling again, crooked as it may be.

Mikey doesn't say okay either.

"Video games?" he asks instead, and Raph snorts, shoves him to the side with one foot, and doesn't even bother answering.

Just gets up, and ignores Mikey's little offended cry as he opens the door, pads out to flip downstairs.

"Last one gets the second controller!" he throws over his shoulder, and grins when Mikey's voice pitches up in accusation, affronted and loud.

"It was my idea!" Mikey yells, sounding exactly like he should be, and it's almost like none of the last few minutes even happened.


End file.
